


Sweet Sorrows

by IndigoDream



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma, Ciri finds Jaskier and not Geralt, Cuddles and lots of them too, Dadskier, Destiny is also involved, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hypothermia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Intrusive Thoughts, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Mention of abusive family, Post-Canon, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, Suicidal Thoughts, Trauma, but lots of fluff to balance it out! somewhat, no beta we die like renfri, the wolves of Kaer Morhen love Jaskier and thats a fact
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: In a forest, a child is running. That child is Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. She is running, but not out of fear anymore. She has seen someone she knows, someone she trusts. The man opens his arms and catches her. Their embrace lasts forever, yet it still isn’t long enough. The man crouches, his eyes scanning the little princess for any proof of pain, any wound, but when he finds nothing he turns back his blue gaze to her own.--Ciri doesn't find Geralt at the end, she finds Jaskier. She has known him all her life, and she trusts him. He decides to bring her to Kaer Morhen so that she will find Geralt. He dreads the moment it will happen.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 195
Kudos: 2023
Collections: Fave Stories of Queixo, Geralt is Sorry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This is the Dadskier fic. and I love it very much :D 
> 
> It contains suicidal thoughts, harmful behavior towards one's self (although mostly in the second part), and pretty bad coping mechanism. Lots of intrusive thoughts too, we are pretty heavy in Jaskier's head. So be careful with that!
> 
> Though, the balance to that is sweet, soft Ciri & Jaskier interaction so!! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!

Softness and cheeriness don’t always mean sweet and tender. Jaskier bites and fights, lashes out and snaps. He is a buttercup; pretty and small, somewhat of a bother, an useless weed. He is a buttercup: a poison. Even with his nimble hands and honeyed words, with his voice more alluring than a Siren’s call, at the end of the day, he’s Jaskier. Jaskier the Human Bard who chose to love a witcher. 

Because yes, it was a choice for him, that love he feels now beating in his chest. He hadn’t seen Geralt’s rudeness and been ensnared by it. He hadn’t hidden away while the witcher did his hunting and thought “how lovely” when the man had crawled back to camp covered in monster’s guts. No, what Jaskier had done was take all those moments and craft them into a story. Because Jaskier isn’t just a bard and a poet. Jaskier is a story teller. What Jaskier fell in love with his Geralt’s story. And then he looked at the man beyond the story, and he decided to love that man. Love him, Jaskier did, relentlessly. Through harsh words and shouting matches, through peaceful mornings on the road when Geralt would hum along to his songs. Jaskier loves him through it all. 

It turns out, it’s much easier to decide to love someone than it is to decide to stop loving someone. Jaskier decides that he will still stop loving him when he walks down that mountain alone. 

All the grunts in the world, and the glares and the “shut ups” don’t always mean “I hate you.” Geralt cares and protects, loves and soothes. He is a witcher, a monster-hunter, always rough and harsh, seeking the beasts in the shadow. The trials enhanced his senses and gave him inhuman strength, but at the end of the day, he is just Geralt. Geralt of Rivia, with no home and no love to give or to receive. Except perhaps Jaskier’s. 

Jaskier, who had followed him to the end and back, with steady hands on a playful instrument. Jaskier, whose laughter brought on sunshine and joy as much as it brought on storms and anger. Geralt hunts monsters, but not always to kill. Otherwise, many towns would be devoid of inhabitants. But Geralt is a witcher. And witchers don’t kill humans.

Geralt ties himself to a sorceress. He ties himself to Yennefer and drives the bard away. 

Destiny doesn’t care about the thoughts of a witcher, nor does she cares about the thoughts of a human bard. She cares about actions not being followed, about strains on her course made by petty magic. So Destiny looks at Geralt of Rivia, who thought he could choose and use magic to seal his own fate rather than follow the fate she has written down for him, and she laughs. Her laughter moves the mountains of the world, covers the sky with darkness, and agitates the seas. Destiny laughs because she will have her way, whether the witcher wants to or not. 

In a forest, a child is running. That child is Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon. She is running, but not out of fear anymore. She has seen someone she knows, someone she trusts. The man opens his arms and catches her. Their embrace lasts forever, yet it still isn’t long enough. The man crouches, his eyes scanning the little princess for any proof of pain, any wound, but when he finds nothing he turns back his blue gaze to her own. 

“Alright then,” a voice that hasn’t sung in months say. “How are you feeling, darling Ciri?”

“Terrible,” the girl admits with a sob, cuddling closer to the man. “I was supposed to find Geralt of Rivia but I can’t! And then I saw you and…” 

“And you knew it was destiny,” Jaskier finishes for her softly. “Yes, she seems to be quite playful lately. I’ll bring you to the home of the witchers. You’ll be safe there, and they’ll be able to help you find Geralt, if he isn’t there already.” 

She sighs of relief and slumps in his arms. 

Destiny, pleased, allows the cloud to part slightly. The sky crackles up, and hints of daylights are seen. Jaskier is bound to Ciri now, and he will bring her to Kaer Morhen. After that, he will do Geralt the one blessing he demanded of life: disappearing. 

—

Jaskier isn’t much of a fighter; he’s never been the best with weapons, and always relied on other people’s strength to protect himself. But now that he has Ciri in his care, he’ll protect her no matter what. If it means using the daggers he keep in his bags for safety purposes, then he’ll do it. He’ll sell his lute to get them a horse, and then they’ll be on their way to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier has never actually been to Kaer Morhen, despite having enquired about it multiple times. He had wanted to see the home of the witchers, the place where Geralt had grown up. He had wanted to meet those people Geralt had called his brothers. 

Now… He isn’t so sure. He certainly won’t be welcome there, but he can deal with that. He can leave Ciri in their care until Geralt gets there. Then Jaskier will just have to quietly disappear again, fade into the darkness that he promised himself he would give Geralt. 

“Jask?” The little princess is waking up slowly, curled up close to him on the bedroll he left her. “Is everything okay? You look sad…” 

“Oh darling,” he caresses her hair gently. “I’m more than alright. How about you, how are you feeling?” 

“Better now that I’m with you,” she smiles shyly. “Are you really going to help me find Geralt of Rivia? My grandmother said he was my destiny.” 

Jaskier nods and gathers her in his arms. She’s a teenage girl, but she is still so young. He can remember like it was yesterday the day he first saw her. Eist, now Calanthe’s husband, had invited him for the winter to stay in Cintra’s court and play there for the nobles and the royal family. Ciri had been a baby, not even yet a toddler, and when Pavetta had showed her to him, he had found himself endlessly enamoured by the pale green eyes that stared up at him. He had returned most winters to Cintra after that, and had seen Ciri grow up into a fine young girl, with a spirit to match her grandmother’s. Calanthe had barely deigned talking to Jaskier, deeming him too much of a remainder of what her granddaughter was linked to by destiny. 

“Destiny is a fickle lover,” Jaskier says gently, hugging her. “But she always has a plan for us. Yours is to meet Geralt. And mine is to bring you there, so you can be protected and taken care of properly.” 

“I don’t even know who Geralt of Rivia is,” she said as he gives her some food to eat. “I mean, I’ve heard all your ballads and Eist used to say that he should at least have been invited to my birthday celebrations, for some reason, but… I don’t really know him.” 

_Neither do I,_ Jaskier wants to reply bitterly. He had thought he knew Geralt, he had thought so until Yennefer happened. After that, it had been all free falls, and jumping into the unknown. But Jaskier had been willing to let it pass, because at least Geralt still wanted him at his side. But the mountain happened. Since then, Jaskier hasn’t so much as sang a song about the white wolf, unless some wealthy patrons requested it. 

“I’ll tell you about him while I get you to Kaer Morhen, don’t worry. Have you eaten enough?” 

The girl nods and gives back the empty bowl. “Kaer Morhen. The home of the witchers then?” 

“Yes.” Jaskier holds within himself his sigh. “They’ll treat you well, and they will keep you safe from all threats. Geralt always return there for the winter.” 

“Is it far?” 

Jaskier winces a bit. “Yes. Quite far, in fact. But…” Jaskier sighs slightly. “It’ll be faster once we have a horse. I just need to stop in the next town we can find and then we can head out, alright?” 

“There aren’t any towns left,” Ciri whispers, terrified. “There aren’t anyone still alive… Nilfgaard… And the mages… They fought and…” 

“It’s alright dear,” he reassures her and kisses her forehead. “You’re alright, and so am I. We’ll make our way to Kaer Morhen, one way or the other. We shouldn’t linger any longer anyway. This isn’t the safest to be but last night, I…” 

“Just had the feeling that’s where you were meant to be?” She asks shyly. “Like when I saw you and I knew it was where I had to be?”

“Yes,” Jaskier chuckles and hugs her one more time. “Exactly like that. Alright, let’s find you something else to wear, okay?” 

“What’s wrong with my outfit?” She tightens the cape around herself. 

“You look every bit like the princess you are in this,” he tells her gently, and caresses her cheek. “I just want to keep you safe. You’ll get your cape back each time we are alone, I swear, but we might have to try and find some kind of merchant right now. And if they recognize you… It could be a disaster.” 

She sighs but nods, and slowly removes the cape from her shoulders. Instead, she dons one of Jaskier’s doublet, much larger on her, and Jaskier hides her hair after braiding it, putting one of his fanciful hats to completely look the par. 

“Here, now you look like a bard’s apprentice!”

She smiles shyly again, looking so different from before this way. Her green eyes are large as they look at him and Jaskier wonders how he will manage to bring her to Kaer Morhen. He has never been to Kaer Morhen himself, but… Well. He has seen maps, and he had always had a peculiar interest in the home of the witchers. Perhaps once he had hoped that Geralt would invite him to spend the winter there. Once. 

“You look sad again Jaskier,” the little princess looks at him with sad eyes. “What’s making you sad?” 

He can’t burden her with his sorrows. “It’s nothing to worry about, Ciri. Let’s go, shall we? The Witchers’ Keep is a three weeks’ ride from here on, and I do believe it would be better if we went as fast as possible.” 

She doesn’t look convinced, but she falls into steps with him when he is done tidying up everything. His bedroll and blanket are tucked back into his bag and he lets her sling over her shoulders the case of his lute. Maybe he’ll actually teach her how to play during their trip. He would like it, if someone remembered him like this, for teaching them music. Not for being a nuisance or something of the likes, but rather for something that’s positive. A happy memory that would allow him to leave without any regrets. Yes, he is rather decided. He will teach Cirilla the art of the lute whenever possible. 

They walk for an hour or so before they happen upon what should be a village. Ciri was right in saying there is nothing anymore. The houses have been set ablaze, the embers of the fire dying as they arrive. The sky is grey still, but it is the ashes and thick cloud of smoke that mask everything. 

Ciri comes closer to him, and Jaskier puts his arm around her shoulder comfortingly. “We’ll be fine. I swear to you, nothing is going to happen to you.” 

“I trust you,” she whispers. “I trust you.” 

She repeats the words to herself like a mantra, and he doesn’t answer. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head and tries to ignore the ugly hatred of the world rising in him. Whoever decided that hurting this child was alright, that she should be hunted and brought to Nilfgaard… He wants to kill them more than he has ever wanted anything in life. He has known Cirilla since she was born, has always made sure she was happy with Calanthe. He had sung her ballads and epic poems, had bounced her on his knees when she had been a toddler. He remembers her laughter when Pavetta would twirl her around. He hopes he’ll hear that laughter again. 

He doesn’t have to walk around the village for long before he finds a sturdy horse waiting in a small garden. 

“Stay with the horse,” Jaskier tells the blond girl as he looks at the crumbled house. “I’ll go see if I can find the saddle and everything we need, alright? Put if you hear something going wrong, I want you to run and hide.” 

She nods, wary. “I know how to do that.”

“Good.” He tries to smile, but he can’t force himself to do so. They are both so tired. 

The house he walks in is black with charcoal and ashes, and the smell of burnt flesh is awful. The Nilfgaardians had locked the people in their house, Jaskier realizes as he sees two corpses trying to cling to each other. The cruelty of war and of men will never cease to repulse Jaskier, but he tries not to pay attention to it. The house is a mess of ruins, and the fire has gotten to everything. Still, underneath some rumble, he finds a saddle and a bridle. Lady Luck must love him today, he thinks as he walks back to Ciri, who is gently petting the horse. 

“Alright, we can be off north now,” Jaskier says as he places the saddle on the horse. “Up you go.” 

Ciri lets herself be hoisted onto the horse and waits patiently as Jaskier makes sure everything is set up properly. “You know the road to Kaer Morhen?” 

Jaskier forces himself not to wince. “Not exactly,” he says. “I’d need a map, but we need to get out of this damned country for that first, and I know how to find true north easily enough.” 

“You’ve travelled quite a lot,” she remarks when he gets on top of the horse and kicks it lightly into motion. “Will you tell me about it?” 

She is holding the case of his lute in front of her as she looks at him, and he sighs, unable to deny her anything. “Very well. Would you like to hear of my very first travel with Geralt then?” 

“Isn’t that basically _Toss A Coin_ ,” she asks with a slight smile. 

“Well. Yes, I suppose it is,” he smiles and makes the horse trot slightly. Being away from the cover of the trees makes him nervous now. “But I’ll tell you a secret: the song doesn’t hold true to the real story. Geralt was quite cross with me for it, actually.” 

He starts narrating to her the story, trying to remember as many details as he can. It’s not easy; multiple times he feels his throat tightening, feels his heartbeat speeding, the need to stop thinking about Geralt nearly overwhelming him. He pushes through it anyway. She’s Geralt’s Child of Surprise, and she is already afraid enough. He wants to make sure that, when she meets the White Wolf, she knows who she meets. 

The next two weeks pass in a much similar fashion. Ciri is calm, and in the evenings when they camp as far away from people as they can, she puts on again her blue cape. Jaskier cooks for them, buying some food when he can during the day. She learns the lute slowly in the evening, and Jaskier sings for her. She doesn’t ask about his sad eyes anymore; instead, she comes to hug him, or ask for a song. She has learned not to ask about Geralt when he is sad, and he doesn’t really know how. The girl is smarter than many people he has met, and she has a quick mind. 

They are nearing the end of their journey, only a few more days, when Jaskier deems it safe enough to stop in an inn. He doubts Nilfgaard would have thought that Ciri would head toward Kaer Morhen, especially on her own. The nights are getting rather cold too, and Jaskier wants to make sure she has at least one night of rest. A bath wouldn’t hurt them either. 

The inn he selects is at the border of a town not quite big enough to have a large amount of soldiers or a mage, and he is grateful that he spared most of his coins through the last two weeks. Perhaps, if he sings, he can make more money and they can afford another inn before Kaer Morhen, but frankly… He doesn’t know if he wants to. He loathes the very idea of leaving Ciri’s side. Of course, while the girl bathes, he could sing a few rows… He’ll see. 

They settle at a table for dinner, and the princess of Cintra, still dressed in Jaskier’s clothes and her hair hidden away, looks absolutely delighted at the prospect of a meal not cooked by Jaskier. When the bard notes on it, she sends him a semi amused look. 

“It’s not that you don’t know how to cook,” she says as she digs in her stew, chewing happily before continuing. “It’s just that there is only so much time I can eat stale bread and watery soup.” 

She is teasing him, her eyes shining with a fond light, and Jaskier feels happiness and contentment warm him to his very core. He loves this girl, would go to the end of the world to protect her. She is like a daughter to him and— 

_Oh_.

The realization hits him like a collapsing wall. Over the course of the past weeks, he has grown to consider Cirilla like his own child. Jaskier has never considered himself truly parental. He had liked Cirilla when he was seeing her during the winter months, had been very fond of her even, but he had never thought himself a father in any future. Still, it fits. They’ve learned to read each other’s mood in a short time, and she is comfortable around him, smiling and even sometimes a short pearled laughter that resonates in Jaskier’s mind for a long time. They’ve found a family in each other, and it makes him so happy he could cry of joy. 

She tilts her head when he doesn’t answer. “Everything alright?” 

“Ah, yes.” He smiles and reaches out to squeeze her hand. “Everything is perfectly fine my dear. Everything has been more than alright since I found you.” 

“For me too,” she smiles shyly and squeezes his hand. “I don’t know why or how I found you, but I’m glad… You are… I’m happy that I found you.” 

They enjoy their meal quietly and make quiet conversation, but it’s mostly peaceful. Ciri goes upstairs first when the innkeeper informs them that the bath is ready in their room. Jaskier keeps his lute and slowly play some strings, letting his fingers caress the instrument. He misses performing, if he is honest. He misses… He misses Geralt’s heavy stare on him as he sung through the taverns and towns they found their way in. He doesn’t feel half as heavy with grief since Ciri ran to him, but there is still sometimes, in the back of his head, the last words Geralt had lashed out to him. 

A couple of children, probably the innkeeper’s, run to him and stare at him, and Jaskier chuckles. 

“May I help you, kind sirs?”

The oldest one looks at her little brother and then back at Jaskier. “Can you sing _The Willow Maid_?”

“For such a charming audience? Absolutely.” 

They clap happily as Jaskier plays the first few notes of the popular love ballad they have requested. It’s as easy as breathing for him, and when they ask for another one, he sings a few of his own songs. All of them are short ballads, easy for children to sing along, and he finds himself enjoying his tiny audience more than he thought he would. Eventually, the children make their way back to their father, who nods thankfully to Jaskier. 

Jaskier is just packing up his lute and gathering his last few belongings when he hears something. 

“Come on witcher,” a voice is saying. “I’ll pay you in an ale and we will call it quits.” 

Fear grips Jaskier’s stomach. He isn’t ready in any way to see Geralt again, he can’t, not yet, he had thought he could leave her in Kaer Morhen and be gone, even if the idea broke his heart and—

“It’s not what we agreed upon when I took the contract,” a voice that definitely isn’t Geralt answers. “You have only paid me half of what I am owed. By your logic, should I have only killed half the monster and let the rest ran free to wreck havoc?” 

“Aren’t you witchers supposed to get rid of those things anyway,” the first voice says, “I don’t even know why you’re being paid to do the only thing you can do.” 

“Good friend,” Jaskier smiles as he approaches closer to the voices. Damn his curiosity. “Would you forgo paying the baker because his only thing to do is bake bread? Would you tell your miller that he does not deserve payment because he mills, the only thing that a miller knows how to do?” 

The stranger glares at him. “Piss off bard.” 

“No,” the witcher says and indicates a seat besides him. “My friend here is right. Are you not a man of honour, Edwin? Will you not pay as you promised?” 

Jaskier sits besides the scarred witcher without hesitation. He is used to witchers and their strange manners, and this one has the medallion of the Wolf School around his neck. Perhaps he will accept to help Jaskier bring Ciri to Kaer Morhen, if Jaskier can explain the situation to him. 

After much grumbling and some more arguing, the said-Edwin pays off the witcher, and Jaskier only waits for a second before moving to sit opposite the witchers. He isn’t too fond of being so close to dangerous strangers, even handsome ones. Well. Besides Geralt, he supposes. 

“Not many bard would come to the rescue of a witcher,” the stranger says. 

“I would hardly call it a rescue,” Jaskier smiles, his people pleasing smile. “More of a hindrance.” 

The man frowns slightly. “You did help. You look rather used to witchers too.” 

“Ah,” Jaskier sighs, trying not to get embarrassed. “Yes. I have had the chance of traveling for a bit with one of your brothers.” 

“You’re Jaskier, Geralt’s bard,” the man exclaims with delight. “Is Geralt around then?” 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, and you must be… Eskel?” The witcher nods with a chuckle. “Yes, Geralt did mention that you were the more chatty out of the bunch, which … appears to be true. Anyway, Geralt is not around, no.” 

Eskel frowns slightly again. “Odd. He must be traveling back to our Keep at this time. Are you heading to meet him there? We have all expressed interest in meeting you. He spoke quite fondly of you after all.” 

The grin on Eskel’s face does nothing to reassure Jaskier. “No, I am… accompanying Geralt’s Child of Surprise to your Keep, but I don’t intend on staying. Geralt has made it rather clear that he wished to not see me again, and I would rather not encounter his wrath. Not again.” 

“How are you accompanying his child of surprise if you and him parted on bad terms?” Eskel nurses his ale, looking genuinely surprised. “I would imagine you want nothing to do with him if he insulted you that way.” 

“I… never said he insulted me.” 

Eskel chuckles. “I know Geralt. He is an asshole. So, where is the child of surprise and how did you come to bring them to Kaer Morhen?” 

“A rather long story, one that I should not be recounting in such a public space. The girl is in the room I rented out for the night.” 

“I’ll get the two of you to Kaer Morhen then,” Eskel says. “I’ll meet you at dawn outside.” 

Jaskier is caught off guard by this proposition. He had meant to ask the witcher this, but he had also expected to have to give more details on this. He hadn’t thought Eskel would trust him so willingly. Although, he supposes that there aren’t that many people outside of Cintra who knew that Ciri was tied to Geralt, except Geralt’s own family. He was sure to have told them. 

“Thank you for the offer,” Jaskier accepts easily. “Let me pay your meal then.” 

“No need,” Eskel waves him off. “Go rest, bard. The next few days aren’t going to be very restful. This is the last town before the Keep, and the villages around aren’t warm to witchers and their companions.”

Jaskier sighs at that, but he nods and accepts the escape he is offered. He bids the witcher goodnight and goes off to his room. Ciri is already in her own bed, her blue cape tight around her. He crosses to the small washroom and finds the bath still filled. When Jaskier plunges his hand in the bathwater, it comes out cold, but it’s better than nothing. Making sure to keep an eye on the door, he gets in the bath and cleans himself as thoroughly as possible in as little time as he can. Dressing back up quickly, he goes back to the room, and sighs of relief when he sees that Ciri has not moved and is still sleeping soundly. 

For the first time since he met Ciri, he dreams of golden eyes and white hair. He doesn’t get much rest that night.

Eskel is waiting in the stables in the morning, holding the bridle of his horse. He is whistling something under his breath as he examines the black gelding, and it’s such a jarring change from Jaskier’s previous witcher companion that he briefly wonders if he is right to trust Eskel, simply because he also wears the wolf medallion. 

“Ah, Jaskier, good morning.” He nods, a faint smile on his lips. “And you must be Geralt’s Child Surprise,” he says as he turns to Ciri. “A pleasure to meet you. My name is Eskel.” 

Ciri looks at Jaskier, who had briefly explained to her that he had, luckily, found one of Geralt’s brothers and they would be able to travel to the Keep safely. She’s shy, looking for the bard’s approval, and when he nods, she takes Eskel’s extended hand and shakes it. 

“Fiona,” she lies easily, and Jaskier sighs softly. “You’re Geralt’s brother then?” 

“Unfortunately,” Eskel jokes, but when she frowns, he smiles. “Only kidding, little miss. My brother is a good man.” 

“I’ve yet to meet him,” she says with a sigh. “But Jaskier says that he is. Is Kaer Morhen far?” 

“Maybe half a week ride,” Eskel answers. “Probably less, if we push our horses a bit. You’ve got warm enough clothes?” 

Ciri is still dressed in Jaskier’s clothes, and when she glances at the bard, he smiles apologetically. Jaskier is also starting to feel the cold seeping into his clothes, but he can wrap Ciri in one of the blankets and make sure she is alright. 

“Not really, we didn’t exactly have the coin for it. We needed to eat first.” 

“Absolutely reasonable,” Eskel says and digs through his pack, pulling out a heavy cape lined with fur. “Here, you can wear this if you start getting cold. It’ll keep you warm through the winter as well.” 

Jaskier looks at the cape as Ciri takes it, and he can see the great quality of it, can see that it is no cheap material. Eskel is parting with one of his most prized possession to make sure that Ciri is alright, and that makes him feel better about his choice of trusting him. 

“Should we get going then?” He asks, leading the horse Ciri and him have been travelling on outside of his stall. “We don’t want to wait any longer than we have to, right?” 

Eskel nods. “Indeed. Let’s get going, we can gallop for a little bit and get a headstart for the day.” 

Helping Ciri on the horse, Jaskier agrees, and then gets in the saddle behind her. She isn’t wearing the cape Eskel gave her, having put it in their own pack, but she does seek out Jaskier’s own body warmth. He kisses the top of her head as Eskel leads the way out of the town. He loves that girl more than he had thought he would ever love a child. He doesn’t exactly do family, but she pulled at his heart and now, she holds it completely. He isn’t angry with that. 

Even when he will have to leave her to Geralt, he knows that he will always worry about her and think about how she is doing, whether she is happy with Geralt or not. He does hope she will be. Despite the white haired Witcher’s harshness towards Jaskier, the man had always been strangely good with children. Parents had been panicked when they had seen their children playing around the White Wolf, but Jaskier remembers the fondness in Geralt’s eyes then. He knows Ciri will be in good hands. 

Eskel turns out to be an excellent travel companion. He is less guarded than his brother, and although he keeps many things private, when Ciri asks him questions about Geralt or Kaer Morhen, he answers earnestly. He tells her about the towers and the cliff it is nestled against, tells her about the other witchers, and Jaskier listens. He soaks up all the knowledge without a word. He is silent, so silent, and sometimes Ciri nudges him, looking at him with a worried glance. He can’t tell her that, the more they near the witchers’ home, the more the anxious knots in his stomach tighten and threaten to choke him as they climb to his throat. 

The large iron and stone gates of Kaer Morhen appears in the afternoon of the fourth day of travel. By then, Ciri has surrendered to the cold and has wrapped herself first in her own cloak, and then in the one Eskel offered her. Jaskier keeps himself warm thanks to one of their meagre blankets, but he can feel a chill settling under his skin regardless. 

“Welcome to your new home,” Eskel says warmly.

The look of absolute fondness on his face as he looks at the crumbling castle makes Jaskier wonders. Does Geralt smile when he sees it? Is there the same lightness in his step and movements as he gets down Roach, holding her bridle while going to open the gates? He can’t help but be tortured by those questions. He had thought he knew Geralt, thought he knew witchers, but clearly he had been mistaken. 

“Eskel,” a warm, old voice shouts as they enter the courtyard behind him. “You’ve brought guests. You did not warn me of that.” 

The younger witcher shrugs unapologetically. “I didn’t know I would be bringing them back until a few nights ago. Vesemir, this is Jaskier, Geralt’s bard, and this is Fiona, Geralt’s Child of Surprise. I crossed paths with them when I stopped in Faren, and I decided to bring them along.” 

Jaskier extends a hand a bit formally and shakes Vesemir’s, who looks thunderstruck as he looks between him and Ciri. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you.” 

“And so have I,” Geralt’s mentor says with a smile. “You’re waiting for Geralt to come back, I suppose? He must have sent you ahead, hoping that you would find one of us on the road. I’m surprised you didn’t find Aiden or Lambert, they are usually the ones who bring home unexpected surprise.” 

“Ah, no,” Jaskier says, a bit embarrassed as he follows Vesemir inside, keeping an arm on Ciri’s shoulder. “Geralt isn’t actually aware of both of us being here. I’m just … passing by. Ciri will be alright with him, and you are Geralt’s family, so for now that should be enough for me. Then I’ll probably travel back to Oxenfurt for the winter.” 

“You’re leaving?” Ciri’s voice is quiet, but it carry all the betrayal and dashed hope that she is feeling. “I thought you were staying with me…” 

“I’m sorry darling,” he says honestly. “It’ll just be better for your education if I’m not around to hinder you. And Geralt… He will probably prefer that I’m not here as well.” 

She frowns and crosses her arms. “Then you have to stay until Geralt is here at least.” 

Ciri doesn’t beg. She doesn’t plead and demand. She simply states a fact, and makes it clear that it is how the world should be, and Jaskier can never find a true way to rebut her. 

“Alright,” he promises with a gentle caress of her hair. Until he gets here.”

She smiles brighter after that. He hates making her sad, hates knowing that his departure will cause her some sadness. But he knows that it is for the best. His being here for the long term is good neither for her nor for him. If Geralt even sees him, Jaskier wonders what his reaction would be. Probably fury. 

Geralt would never hurt him, that Jaskier is sure of. He would never raise a hand against him, he has never done so since Posada, and since then he has always helped Jaskier out of all the difficult situations he put himself in. But that doesn’t change that Jaskier would rather avoid the awkwardness of seeing the man he loves telling him again that he should leave. 

Eskel finds Jaskier in the room that Vesemir gave him in the evening. The Wolf witcher looks more relaxed now that he is home, a smile on his face. With a pinch to his heart, Jaskier realizes that, had he not met Geralt first, had he not travelled with him across the Continent, he could have fallen in love with Eskel. He could have admired that quiet beauty, that friendliness and warmth that escape him. He curses destiny for having made him a love hardy fool who has never been able to let go of his feelings. 

“You look sad,” the witcher says, and Jaskier chuckles bitterly. Ciri, Eskel, will Vesemir be next? “Come have a drink with us.”

“Someone needs to look after Ciri,” Jaskier protests, but he is already being made to follow the witcher. 

“The kid is already asleep,” he shrugs. “Quite interesting, by the way, that she went from Fiona to Ciri as soon as we crossed the gates of Kaer Morhen.” 

Jaskier bites his tongue slightly, but he doesn’t feel any shame. “It was safer if no one knew on the road.” 

“I understand that. I’m glad you think she’s safe here. We’ll protect her through everything. After all, she is one of us now. What with being Geralt’s child of surprise and everything.” 

“Right,” Jaskier nods and looks at the castle. “One of you.” 

“One of _us_ ,” Eskel insists again and passes an arm around his shoulder. “So are you, Jaskier. You’re important to our brother, and definitely to the new pup, so you’re part of the family.” 

It warms him a little to hear the witcher say that, but Jaskier is trying to keep his footing, trying to maintain his goal of leaving as soon as he can. He can’t let himself be lulled by the warmth offered by the witcher. He can’t allow himself to believe that perhaps, he is wanted around. 

Vesemir is setting up a table in the kitchens, and it is definitely the warmest place in the whole castle so far. Jaskier almost wonders if he could sleep here instead of in his room. Warmth has always suited him much better than the cold, and he has an affinity for kitchens anyway. He can remember being little and sneaking into the kitchen, stealing a cookie and hiding under a window. The benevolent eyes of the maids and cook are still burning in his memory. They had been much better people than his parents. 

“Jaskier! It is quite nice that you’re still awake. Cirilla was exhausted and fell asleep immediately. I left her some food on her table, but I also left her a word to make sure she knew where to found us, and especially you, in case she needed something.” 

“Thank you,” he smiles and means the words. 

He had walked with Ciri around the castle earlier, and they had each seen the other’s room, but they had parted after that, each returning to their own room. Jaskier had played some of the lute, trying to forget the ache in his heart at the idea of leaving her. It’s the right thing, he had repeated to himself. He hates how much the right thing hurts. 

“Of course,” the older witcher smiles and waves a hand. “Sit, sit. Dinner is ready, and I’ve taken out a bottle of the whiskey I keep around for occasions.” 

“Ah, I’m sure I am not the occasion needed for that,” Jaskier’s protests are waved away by Vesemir, who serves him a generous goblet of whiskey.

“You have reached your destination and deliver Geralt’s Child Surprise to us, isn’t that cause enough for celebration? We are happy to have you amongst our ranks, however long it lasts. Geralt only had praises to tell of you, and I know it is thanks to you that my boys have an easier time out there on the Path. Meeting you is a good enough occasion for us.” 

The small speech causes him to blush, but he doesn’t dare say that all the praises they must have heard were probably sarcastic, and even if they were genuine, they don’t matter anymore. Because Geralt hates Jaskier now.

He downs his goblet at the thought. The alcohol burns down his throat and he grimaces. He hasn’t had anything stronger than ale or wine in a long time. Possibly not since last summer.

“Steady there,” Eskel laughs, but he is drinking too. “You have all evening to get drunk with us!” 

Jaskier laughs a bit, and the two others relax slightly. They had been tense because of him, he realizes. He probably did not fit the description they had gotten from Geralt. Fool, idiotic, loud and always in the way, those are his best traits. He is equally well known for his silence and long reflexions.

Eskel is looking proud of having made him laugh, and Jaskier vows to himself to get to learn the man, at least until he has to leave. 

The evening passes slowly, full of food and alcohol, and Jaskier finds himself laughing and joking with the witchers. They joke as well, and when they laugh it’s loud, with the strength of ten animals. It makes him happy to see that, makes him happy to be teased and prodded, to be pushed into a song or three. 

It’s not often anymore that he sings, except for Ciri, and for the kids at the inn the other night. He had tried singing again after the mountain, but there had been too much heartbreak in his voice, too many tears in his songs. 

As he sings now, the drunken song rises in the air and gets louder and louder as Eskel joins in. It feels nice, like having a friend would feel. Jaskier sinks into the warmth of the man’s shoulder against him, and he continues singing. 

At some point, he realizes that his singing is heavily story-telling like. He doesn’t really notice, until he slips into the tale of the bird who stole the scarecrow’s eyes, and how that became the start of an unlikely friendship. He stops them, trying to find water to assuage his thirst, and he ends up dancing, loud and happy, Eskel spinning him around as Vesemir claps a rhythm and Jaskier tries to sing something that may go possibly with the song they are inventing. 

When he stumbles back to his room, he is tipsy. He feels lightheaded in a way he hasn’t felt in months, and he wonders if witchers’ alcohols are stronger than human’s alcohol. In either case, he doesn’t mind. He feels pleasantly satisfied with himself and everything that is happening so far. 

Ciri is curled up on his bed, draped in her blue cape, and she is holding the pillow like her life depends on it. 

With a gentle poke, as to not bother her more than necessary, he wakes her up slowly. She blinks awake easily enough, still on her guards, and he sighs a bit, annoyed with himself for having woken her up. She looks tired still, despite the fact that she has supposedly slept the whole evening. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he whispers gently and caresses her hair. “Is there something wrong with your room?” 

She shakes her head and yawns a bit. “I had a nightmare… I went looking for you but you were laughing with Eskel and Vesemir and I didn’t want to bother you… I thought it would be alright if I waited here? I must have fallen asleep though…” 

“It’s alright,” he smiles and sits down on the bed next to her. “Do you want to stay here? I can borrow your room for the night, I’m sure it’ll be perfectly alright.” 

“Can I sleep with you?” She doesn’t look at him when she asks, clutching the pillow in her arm. “I don’t want to have nightmares again…” 

It almost brings tears to his eyes, that display of trust. She’s seeking comfort in him, trusting him to take care of her, and he wants to cry. Gods, he has never been a crying drunk, but this might change it. He caresses her hair and smiles tenderly. 

“Of course,” he bends down and kisses her forehead. “I’m always going to be here for you darling.” 

She looks at him then, her eyes full of something almost like hope. “Always? You swear?” 

He doesn’t want to swear, because he knows he will only end up hurting her more. He will be leaving when Geralt arrives, and he will probably never see her again. Briefly, he wonders if he’ll ever see _anyone_ again after he leaves the Keep. 

“I can’t swear always,” he says with regret and a flash of hurt passes in her eyes. “But as long as I’m allowed, I’ll be here for you.” 

She thinks for a few minutes, and he takes advantage of that to remove his doublet and shoes. When he slips under the covers, she cuddles against him and he holds her tightly. 

“Alright,” she whispers. “I love you Jaskier.” 

The soft admission, whispered against his shirt as she falls back asleep, makes something in him break. He has never been loved like this before. He has never had anyone trust him so fully, so perfectly, and has never felt this responsible for someone’s well being. He knows he is doing the right thing by leaving her with Geralt, knows that here she will be safe and taken care of, but it tears at his heart. 

“I love you too darling,” he murmurs into her hair, and he feels her sighing contentedly as she falls back asleep. 

He holds her gently and caresses her hair as she sleeps. He can’t fall asleep himself. The alcohol is leaving his body, slowly taking all the world’s colors with it, and Jaskier knows that when he leaves Kaer Morhen, it will rip his heart out. This little girl has stolen all the love he could have ever given the world, and he doesn’t want to have it back, not ever. He doesn’t know how to live with himself, knowing he will hurt her. He hates that the best for her is also the worst for him, and something that will end up hurting her before she can understand why he did that. 

He must doze off, because he wakes up to the sun trickling into the room and an empty bed. Ciri’s cape is neatly folded on the chair, and he smiles softly. She could wear it freely now, but she has apparently chosen to remain dressed in his old clothes. He feels foolish for how warm and parental it makes him feel. To think that only a few weeks ago he would never have considered himself suited for parenthood. Maybe he still isn’t, but for Ciri, he would be willing to try.

It’s a shame he won’t let himself try. A shame he _can’t_ let himself try. If he does end up staying, it would only wind up hurting her more as Geralt comes back to his home. She would have to choose between him and Geralt, and Jaskier knows that the choice is an easy one made. Destiny has tied her to Geralt, not Jaskier, and it hurts to remember that. 

He walks downstairs and finds Vesemir reading an old manuscript in the large main hall, a roaring fire warming up the room. 

“Where’s Ciri,” Jaskier asks after greeting the old witcher. “I woke up and she was gone?” 

Vesemir chuckles. “Don’t worry, she’s safe. Why don’t you grab yourself some hot mulled wine and go check the courtyard?” 

Intrigued by his vagueness, Jaskier does as told and walks to the courtyard with his mug in his hands. It keeps him warm as he passes through the cold corridor that leads outside. 

He hears them before he sees them. Ciri is giggling, a bright sound that doesn’t fail to bring a smile to his lips, and Eskel is talking, although he can’t understand the words just yet. They seem to be getting along though, and it makes him happy. She’ll be content here, surrounded by people who can properly protect her. Not like him. He can’t fight with a sword for shit. The only fights he has ever won happened when he was younger, when he carried a dagger at his side and could slip in between people to stab them in the throat. Jaskier isn’t proud of all his past, but he would never deny it. 

He had never told Geralt of his own past. Geralt has, after all, never asked where he disappeared when they were not together. Winters were spent in Cintra, yes, but he had not always been with Geralt on the Path. There had been years, early on, before Jaskier had realized he could not withstand more blood on his hands, where Jaskier had wandered alone, and had taken care of monsters that witchers didn’t look at. 

Ciri is holding a training sword in her hand, and she is giggling as Eskel makes an exaggerated movement, showing her how to properly hit something. It’s a thing of beauty, he thinks. The man is large, so much taller than the former princess, but he is gentle as she fumbles with her sword. It makes him wonder if this would have been how Geralt raised her, had he taken responsibility at her birth. 

The mental image of Geralt with a toddler Ciri in his arms nearly sends him into hysterics. It’s too much, and his heart is too sore to acknowledge how much he had once yearned to have that. A family, with the man he loves. Now, he only has a daughter to whom he can’t tell that he’ll have to leave soon. Now, he only has bitter regrets in his mouth. 

“Jaskier,” she shouts happily as she sees him, and drops her weapon to run into his arms. “Good morning!” 

“Good morning darling,” he chuckles, wine nearly spilling as he catches her against him. “Training hard already?” 

“Eskel said I needed to learn to defend myself! And that way, I can defend us both. We don’t have to be afraid of Nilfgaard.” 

_We._ She has decided that he would be part of her life, that nothing would stand in between them and the world. How he hates to know he will disappoint her. How he hates to know she will come to hate him soon. 

“Is that so?” He forces a smile on his lips. “How lovely! Perhaps you will teach me then.” 

“I could teach you both,” Eskel says as he walks closer. “If you’re going back to the roads soon, you’ll want to defend yourself properly. There are soldiers on the roads, and they aren’t kind to people bearing other countries’ colors.” 

Jaskier smiles a bit at that, forlorn and weary. “It’s been long since I have worn any country’s color. The closest I had to a home country rejected me years before I met your brother. Since then, it has been either Oxenfurt or Cintra, and neither will welcome me now.” 

Ciri hugs him tighter. “We can be each other’s home!” 

Her tenderness makes him smile and he presses a kiss to her forehead. “We can be, yes.” 

Eskel looks at them both, and something like understanding goes through his eyes. “Let me teach you too then. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to Ciri’s father. Especially not when that man is a friend.” 

“A friend?” Jaskier almost chokes the word out. 

Geralt had taken years to acknowledge they were friends. Of course, they had both known that it was the true name of their bond, but while Jaskier had been free in his affection, open and warm, Geralt had been cold and closed off. Jaskier had thought it a Witcher’s trait, something that was shared by all of them. He had had a glimpse of how wrong he had been the previous night, but to hear Eskel acknowledge it this way, just like he had called Jaskier one of them before, makes him feel like he is suffocating. He doesn’t want to have more ties, doesn’t want to have more people to hurt when he leaves. 

“Of course,” Eskel smiles, his face lightening up handsomely. “You came to help me when you knew me not, and you have been an excellent travel companion until here. Without talking about your delightful singing last night.” 

He winks at that and Jaskier laughs, a bubble of joy escaping him. “I see then. Alright, let me have some breakfast, and I shall join the two of you in some sort of training. You must swear however that you will not mock me when I inevitably drop down my weapon and fall in the mud!” 

Ciri giggles and rises on her tiptoes. “Of course not.” She hesitates a bit and kisses his cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do great, dad.” 

He had already been on the edge of tears when Eskel had referred to him as the teenager’s father, but to hear her saying it, to hear her call him her father… It makes tears run down his cheeks. He hugs her tightly and she gives it back. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, voice full of tears, and she only hugs him back, kissing his cheek once again. 

He goes back inside after that, trying to get his emotions under control as he walks to the Hall, and Vesemir seems to know exactly what is going on. He wonders if the man was simply listening on the conversation, or if he is just aware of everything that happens in his home, like some sort of all-knowing spirit of Kaer Morhen. 

He shakes the thought of his head and smiles at the old man. “Thank you.” 

“What are you thanking me for, son?” Vesemir smiles and invites him to sit down on one of the chairs covered with fur. “We should be thanking you for bringing her here. And for being willing to let her be trained by one of us. Many people would refuse to see their child learn the ways of the witchers.” 

Jaskier sighs. “I’m not her father though, am I? I just helped her get here. She’s overly attached to me because I knew her in childhood but…” 

“You love her like your daughter, yes?” Vesemir leans forward to look him in the eyes. 

“Well, yes-“ 

“You have rescued her a few weeks ago, and before that, you had seen her every winter since her birth, is that correct?” 

“Yes, but-“ 

“Does that diminish in any way the way that you love her like your daughter?” 

“Absolutely not!”

“Then why would her feelings towards you be any less important than yours towards them? You two chose each other, decided you would be each other’s family in a world that has been none too kind with each of you. There is beauty in that, Jaskier. Don’t try to deny it.” 

The old man sits back in his chair and smiles gently. Jaskier watches him for a few minutes, speechless, and then he can’t help himself. He stands up and hugs the man, who is clearly startled but still pats him on the back. 

“I understand how Eskel turned out to be such an amazing person,” he says as he stands back up properly, drying the last few tears from his cheeks. 

“But not Geralt, isn’t it?” Vesemir loos sad for an instant. “I don’t know what he did to you, and I can’t ask you to forgive him for what he said. I can only say that he probably regrets it, and I’m sure he would be more than happy to see you again.”

Jaskier smiles weakly. “That’s very kind of you, but I think you may be wrong here. He made it quite clear that I was nothing but a bother to him. And frankly… There is only so much that a person can take before they leave. Geralt is… Geralt was my friend. And I… I have great affection for him, and I suspect I might always. But I won’t make him suffer my presence simply for my selfish desire for companionship.” 

“He has always spoken of you with great affection to us,” Vesemir butts in gently. 

“Perhaps, but I’ve found that I can’t simply believe in things I have no proof of anymore. If what you say is true, then I wish that some of his actions in the latest years reflected it.” Jaskier sighs heavily, and looks away. “I love Ciri, and just as you said, she is my daughter. That is why I will leave when the White Wolf comes back home. She belongs with him more than she ever will with me. It would be selfish of me to deny her this.” 

“You would take away her father, because my son has treated you harshly?” There is surprise in the old Witcher’s voice. “What has he said that was so horrible?” 

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

Jaskier shakes his head. “I would not tarnish the image you have of him. As I said, he is a great man, and I have great affection for him. I am not the companion he deserves, and I would hate to trouble him more, especially when he has to care for Ciri. Excuse me now, I promised Eskel and Ciri I would join them after my breakfast.” 

Jaskier escapes the room in fast strides, fleeing to the kitchen. He finds some bread and some cheese and eats them. In his chest, his heart is beating fast, too fast. As he revealed too much? As he said something that has endangered his stay in the Keep? He wouldn’t mind leaving right away, but he wants to say goodbye to Ciri, wants to tell her he loves her and that he will always be proud of her, no matter where he is. He had just gotten accustomed to the idea that he had perhaps a few more days of rest before returning to the roads and the coldness of the northern mountains. 

Vesemir walks in the room and looks at him, sadness shining in his eyes. It bears heavily on him, hunching his shoulders slightly and making him appear smaller than he should be. Jaskier might have only met him the previous day, but seeing the man this way still makes his stomach clench. It’s uncomfortable, like seeing his parents crying. 

“My son does not deserve your affection,” Vesemir says with a heavy sigh. “I am sorry for what he said to you, what he led you to believe. You are a worthy companion, a worthy man to know. Eskel has told me of the stories you have told Ciri of Geralt, and he has told me of the kindness you showed him before even meeting him. The Wolves of Kaer Morhen are indebted to you, for more than bringing Cirilla to Geralt. I know that I cannot make Geralt’s words disappear, and I will certainly have a talk with him as soon as he passes the gates of our home, but until then, I hope you will accept our friendship as true. You are welcome here, Jaskier. You are braver than many men I have known, and your heart is a strength that us witchers too often forget. Please, consider yourself at home here.” 

Again, the man knocks the winds out of Jaskier’s lungs with his declaration. It’s a wonder anyone can survive a winter with Vesemir, if he simply walks up to you and tears at the walls of your being to replace them with something softer and more tender. 

“I fear,” he chokes a little on his words, “that if you keep being this kind to me, I will never be able to obey Geralt’s wishes and disappear.” 

Vesemir looks horror struck at the very idea. “Is that what he said to you? Oh, Jaskier.” 

It isn’t pity in the Witcher’s voice, but tenderness and despair. Like he finally understands what Jaskier is struggling with. He comes to wrap him in his arms, and hugs him tightly, and Jaskier feels sobs building his way back into his throat. He can’t help himself but cling to the old man, wondering if this is what having a true family would have felt like in his childhood. He wonders if Geralt ever received such a hug, and he can’t imagine that he didn’t. It hurts still, to think about the white haired witcher, but he is slowly learning to live with the pain in his heart. 

He is still sobbing when a smaller hand touches his own, and he feels Ciri worming her way against him. Eskel’s hand falls on his shoulder, and he feels love soaking his skin, nourishing him from all side. He finally feels like he has a family, and how strange is it, that he found it where he thought he would only find sadness and rejection?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More people come back to the Keep, and Jaskier is confronted to Geralt. Things go really wrong, before they go right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Welcome back to Dadskier, second and final part :D 
> 
> Again, this is not betaed, and there are probably typos everywhere... But well I don't have much energy to go over it all again! 
> 
> All the TW are in the tags, but this can be very triggering due to heavy discussion of mental illness + familial abuse, so be careful!
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

After that first emotional morning, Jaskier spends more relaxing days within the Keep. He trains with Ciri and Eskel in the mornings, and while Eskel does his best to teach them properly, many of their training sessions end up in laughter and tickle fights, with Ciri crying mercy as Jaskier attacks her and lifts her up in his arms. Afternoons are for relaxing, for reading and studying the lute.

The two of them settle in a bit of a familiar routine too. Most nights, Ciri will fall asleep in her own bed, but it’s often that her nightmares wake her up, and then she’ll come to find him, cuddling against him in the middle of the night. Before lunch, when she comes back from the Keep’s hot springs where she washes up, he takes care of her hair, brushing it. Sometimes, he braids it, simple and easy. He ignores the voice in his mind that reminds him of taking care of Geralt this way.

Two weeks after, Lambert and Aiden arrive. They are so different from what he expected, but he finds himself enjoying them. Lambert, despite his gruff disposition, ends up being quite sweet on his own. Jaskier finds it particularly funny how he tries to portray himself as a tough, no-nonsense witcher, but whenever Aiden walks around and teases him, his ears take a red tinge. The bard finds himself a particular liking for the cat witcher. Aiden has a silver tongue, and the both of them often trade barbs in the evening, under the wolves’ amused looks. 

“The cat and the songbird,” Lambert grins one evening, after Ciri has gone off to bed and they are all drinking and joking around. “Would make quite the song, don’t you think?” 

Aiden’s hand is settled comfortably on his thigh, and Lambert’s smile is, without any doubt, the sweetest expression Jaskier has seen the man sport in the week they’ve been here. 

Jaskier chuckles and drinks more of his ale. “That it would, my friend, that it would,” 

Those words slip from his mouth so easily now. He hasn’t known them for more than a month, has known Lambert and Aiden for barely a week, but they put him at ease, teasing in a gentle manner. They encourage him to sing and play for them, they train him in swordsmanship, and Eskel has also been leading him through Kaer Morhen’s extensive library. It becomes easy to consider them his friends, part of his family. 

It’s Vesemir who is the kindest to him. He makes sure not to bring up Geralt again, and Jaskier knows he has told the others to do so as well, because sometimes Jaskier will walk into a room and find them talking in low voices, but they’ll stop immediately. They might try to mask it with jokes and offers to play games, but Jaskier sees the way their shoulder tenses and they hold themselves a bit tighter. He doesn’t blame them. 

They have all known Geralt for much longer than he has known them, and they are his family before being Jaskier's friends. Their loyalties lie with Geralt first. He tries to ignore the fear of Geralt’s return, of having this warm feeling of home and safety being ripped away. 

A little over a month after his arrival, he wakes up to a blanket of snow covering the grounds of the castle, and he smiles softly. He grew up in the south of the continent, where snow was a rare occasion and winters were mostly spent with a slightly warmer coat than usual. In his travels, he has encountered many snow-covered countries, but he can never quite shake off the wonder of that first morning snow. 

Ciri runs into his room just as he finishes putting on a new, thick shirt that Eskel had given him. The dark clothing isn’t his cut nor his usual style, but it keeps him warm, and he pulls over it a doublet. 

“I remember you knowing how to knock,” he grins as he catches her in his arms and kisses the top of her head. “Good morning darling. Did you sleep well?” 

“Good morning dad!” She is so happy to be able to call him that that she has taken to saying it as often as she can. She moves up to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and he lets her. “You need to shave! It’s really getting out of hand!” 

He laughs. She has been making the same comments for the past three weeks, but he rather likes the beard that he has been growing. It gives him a different look, something a bit more stern, a bit more adult. He hasn’t lost his youthful looks in any way, which should probably concern him, but he has decided not to question it. It’s easier that way. 

“I like it. You haven’t answered my question though.” 

She sighs with a pout. “Well, if you like it… I didn’t have any nightmares! Did you see the snow? Eskel said that training is cancelled for the day, since it looks like a snow storm will be there this evening.” 

“I think it’s hard to miss the snow, doll,” he grins as she sticks her tongue out, and he pulls his shoes on. “What do you want to do then?” 

“Breakfast, then… I’ve never played in the snow?” She admits this a bit shyly. “I mean, Cintra didn’t have much snow and…” 

“I know,” he says gently and kisses her forehead. “I’ll borrow gloves from Aiden and one of the wolves will land us cloaks, and we can go play in the snow.” 

She smiles brightly at that, and he is reminded of how young she is. Barely thirteen, and yet she has had to flee an invasion, has seen friends killed in front of her, has lost all her birth family… And yet, she smiles brightly, she looks at the life around her and decides that it is a gift. He wonders how she can do it. Endless admiration for her pours from his heart, and he can’t help but hug her again. 

She melts in his embrace for a few seconds before pushing back. “Come on, I’m hungry! Vesemir said he would make specialties from Aiden’s home!” 

Jaskier has no idea where Aiden’s home is, but he is pretty sure that now, it’s with Lambert. It makes him smile a little as they go downstairs. The wolf who loved the cat. He could find a few good rhymes for that, sing it around for them. They like to hear him sing, encouraging him to come up with new lyrics. They make him laugh. 

Eskel and Lambert are having a hushed discussion in front of the fireplace, their heads bowed low as they whisper back and forth. When they see Jaskier walking in, they stop suddenly, and he sighs heavily. This has to stop. 

“Go ahead to the kitchen,” he tells Ciri, who gives him a questioning look. “I’ll join you soon.”

She frowns but nods, squeezing his hand before leaving to the kitchen. Jaskier only waits a few seconds after she is out of sight to turn to the two guilty looking witcher. 

“You know I can handle hearing about Geralt, right?” He asks this pointedly, his eyes focusing on each pair of golden eyes. “It isn’t going to kill me. I’m not that fragile yet. I know I’m human, but come on.” 

“We just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Eskel says apologetically. 

“You sound like the scary kind when you’re pissed off,” Lambert grumbles. “And we don’t see the point in hurting you some more.” 

“That’s very sweet of you, but I’d rather you tell me outright than just cut the conversation when I walk in. So tell me. What has Geralt done this time?” 

They hesitate, and finally Lambert sighs. “He was supposed to already be here. He always comes back home before the first snow.” 

“Does he always come back here?” Jaskier asks, worry tying his stomach in a knot

What if something happened to Geralt? What if he can’t come home because he is stuck somewhere, or worse, what if he is injured? What if he is _dead_?

“Not always, but he sends word when he doesn’t,” Eskel says, which does nothing to alleviate Jaskier’s worry. “We would know though if something had happened to him. Vesemir has a few informants in some of the towns down south, and no one has reported anything about the White Wolf.” 

“We are thinking he must have run into some trouble in the way,” Lambert continues, “and he probably got slowed down by the snow. He shouldn’t be long to come back, hopefully.” 

Jaskier breathes a sigh of relief, and then he realizes. He’ll have to go as soon as Geralt gets here. He can’t stay here and force his presence on a man who wants nothing to do with him. He is not that much of a curse on anyone. 

“Right,” he says a bit shakily. “I’m sure it will be a relief for him to be home with all of you. Ciri will be relieved to finally meet her destiny as well.” 

“Jaskier, you don’t have to-“ Eskel starts, but Jaskier throws him a sharp look. 

“I do. Not for my sake, but for both Ciri and his. They’ll both be happier if they can strengthen their bond to each other, and I’ll only hinder that.” 

“The kid adores you,” Lambert crosses his arms. “It seems unfair to leave her like that.” 

“She already knows I plan on leaving when he arrives.” He crosses his arms back, making himself look bigger than he feels. “Destiny didn’t pick me to be her father, it chose Geralt. She’ll love him, and she’ll forget about me, and that will be for the best.” 

“She’ll never forget you,” Eskel sighs. 

“She will,” Jaskier says firmly. “Now, if you two don’t mind, I’ll go enjoy breakfast with her. She wants to play in the snow, so I wondered if you had any gloves and capes for us that we could borrow.” 

Eskel nods, oddly quiet. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, and leaves for the kitchen. 

Vesemir is in the kitchen with Ciri, preparing her a breakfast of eggs and meat, and Jaskier nabs a serving of it as he sits down next to his daughter. 

“Aiden went out to see if the last traps have wielded any preys,” the witcher informs them, and Jaskier only nods. 

Ciri is looking a bit concerned, and she leans her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything back, just lets her, and soaks in the simple comfort the touch provides. He wants to not worry about Geralt, but he can’t help it. Despite all the hurt, despite the pain in his heart, he loves the man. He is afraid of what it means that he is not there, and he wonders what he will do if Geralt never comes back to the Keep. Will he go looking for him in the spring? Leave Ciri here, with Vesemir, for safety’s sake? He doubts she would accept that. 

Breakfast is quiet, not many words exchanged, and Jaskier drinks hot cider to try and warm himself up, but the coldness has nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with what he learnt. He wonders too, how long the witchers have kept it from him. How long have they been waiting for Geralt to come home, only for silence to echo back? 

He remembers Lambert’s time in the courtyard in the afternoon, him and Aiden going to work on the outside walls, to make them sturdier for the coming winter, and he realizes that they were all simply waiting, eager and anxious. The first snow is settling over Kaer Morhen, and if Jaskier is to trust the witchers, then it won’t leave until spring. Geralt will have a hard time making his way through the mountains with the ice and snow covering the paths. It twists Jaskier’s guts, and he can’t finish his breakfast. 

Ciri’s eyes are on him, inquisitive and worried, and he fakes a smile, but she sees through him easily. 

“It’s about Geralt, isn’t it?” Her voice is small, but she keeps her shoulders straight and her eyes into his own. “I want to know.”

He sighs. “You have a right to know, I suppose.” 

He told her all about Pavetta and Duny’s engagement party, told her how Geralt claimed her as his Child Surprise without knowing. He hasn’t told her about Geralt’s refusal to acknowledge it. She doesn’t need to believe that she isn’t wanted, that her presence is undesired. Jaskier is too well aware of how much that belief hurts. 

“He should already be here,” Jaskier says and pushes her hair out of her face, his fingers quickly braiding it. It’s familiar now, and she lets him, turning around to give him proper access. “His brothers are worried that he will have a hard time coming back here in the snow.” 

“Are you? Worried, I mean. You know him well, do you think he is going to come back?” 

Jaskier’s fingers pause in the plait he is braiding, and his breath catches in his throat. How does he tell her that parts of him hope that the white haired witcher doesn’t come home, so that he may enjoy a winter with his daughter? He can’t have her be sad again, can’t tell her that. And it would be wrong to do so, anyway. He wants Geralt to be back. He wants to see the man alive and well again, wants to see those golden eyes, so similar to his siblings, and yet… 

Jaskier is a fool in love, a fool who can’t seem to stop loving Geralt of Rivia. He is a bard, a poet, and his soul had chosen long ago that it would devote itself only to one person for all of its life. He has had many lovers, has loved women and men alike along the road, but there had only ever been Geralt to inspire in him the absolute faith and trust that Jaskier knew meant more than love. He adored the man, and he had only been repaid in heartbreak and harshness. And yet, his heart refuses to learn the lesson and move on. He is a fool, and he will always be when it comes to the White Wolf. 

“No,” he whispers as he starts braiding his daughter’s hair again. “I’m not. I know he will be back, sooner or later. He will come home to his family, to you, sweetheart. And you’ll finally have found your destiny.” 

There is something wrong in saying that, almost like the words don’t fit in his mouth, but he pushes the thought away. He finishes the hairdo and smiles softly to himself. He is happy here with her, and he knows that his hope, his promise, that Geralt will be back, will only make him miserable. But he loves Ciri more than anything in the world, and he will do whatever is best for her. 

“Alright then,” she smiles a bit and takes his hand. “Can we go in the snow now? Please?” 

He smiles and pokes at her nose, which makes her grimace and giggle. “Let’s go. We just need to borrow some gloves and cloaks.” 

“You can take mine,” Vesemir says, and Jaskier startles. He had completely forgotten that the old man was there. “I’ll just stay inside until you are back.” 

“Thank you Ves!” Ciri goes up to him to give him a short hug before she’s running back to Jaskier and tugging on his hands, leading him back outside the kitchen. 

They find Vesemir’s warm cloaks in a closet next to the entrance hallway, and gloves are tucked into inside pockets. Jaskier makes sure Ciri puts hers on comically, and they both giggle at how big they are on her hands. It feels good to laugh with her like this, after the few tense discussions of this morning. 

Ciri lights up in the snow. She has never seen it before, has never played in it before, and Jaskier smiles softly as she lets herself fall in it. It’s knee deep, and Jaskier can feel the cold entering his shoes and pants, but he can’t find it in himself to care. After all, how could he care about something as mundane as ruined clothing when his daughter is laughing and calling out to him to come play? 

They are in the middle of a snowball fight, a concept that Ciri had been delighted in finally trying out, when the gates of Kaer Morhen are pushed open. Immediately, Jaskier rushes in front of the girl, and she grips his hand, only staying lightly behind him. 

It takes him barely a quarter of a second before he recognizes the man opening the door. Though, it might be fair to say that he recognizes the horse before he recognizes the man. Roach, at least, is looking alright. 

Geralt, on the other hand, looks like he has been haunted by ghosts for the past few weeks, if not months. There are dark circles under his eyes, and he looks thinner than he had the last time Jaskier had seen him. His eyes find Jaskier, and there is confusion and mistrust for a few seconds before recognition enters his expression. And then, the golden eyes shift to Ciri, who is looking curiously at the white haired witcher. 

“Cirilla,” he says, voice loud in the quietness of the courtyard. “You’re alive.” 

He falls to his knees, relief hitting him, and Jaskier sees tears in his eyes as he look at his child surprise. How cruel, that he looks so beautiful even in his sorrow. 

“Dad,” Ciri whispers, and Geralt’s eyes widen again, looking back at Jaskier sharply. “Is that..?” 

“It is,” he nods and pushes her gently in front of him. “Go say hi.” 

She moves slowly, giving him quick looks over her shoulder, and he keeps nodding and encouraging her, but all the words he want to say are stuck in his throat. The water seeping into his clothing is now overwhelming, and when Geralt pulls Ciri into his arms with a broken sob, he flees back inside the castle. 

Eskel is reading near the great hall’s chimney when Jaskier passes through in a rush. “What-“ 

“Geralt.” It’s the only thing that Jaskier can think of saying, as he leaves the room again. 

He locks the door of his room, places the chair of the desk against it, and then sits on his bed. It takes him no longer than a handful of seconds before he starts crying. 

He barely has time to remove his gloves and cape before the sobs wreck through his body, choking him and making him feel like he is less than himself, over and over again. He buries the noises in his pillow, trying to keep quiet, but he knows he is still too loud. He is too much, always, and he brings catastrophe wherever he goes. 

_Why is it that, whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s always you, shovelling it?_

It takes him what feels like hours to calm down, and by the time he has finally managed to stop the heavy shakes of his body, his head is pounding and his body feels so detached from himself. He hates this, but he knows he deserves it. He hurt Geralt, repeatedly, and he stole Ciri from him. 

Clearly, Geralt had been so late because he had been looking for his child surprise all over Cintra after Nilfgaard’s attack. He had thought her dead, and the very idea of it had devastated him so much that he had looked almost on the brink of death. All of that because of Jaskier. If Jaskier hadn’t been there, if he had been strong enough, Geralt and Ciri would have found each other before, and they would both be happier. Ciri wouldn’t be losing a father figure now, and Geralt would be happy with her. 

Jaskier hates himself. He hates what he has done to the two people he loves most in the world. If it weren’t for him, they would be happy. If it weren’t for him, maybe Geralt would never have claimed Ciri as his own, and maybe Ciri would still be happy with her family in Cintra. Maybe Nilfgaard wouldn’t have attacked and— 

In the distance, a loud cracking sound resonates, loud like trees breaking all at once. It startles Jaskier out of his spiralling thoughts, and he looks down at his hands, realizing that he has been tearing at the flesh there. He is bleeding, and while it is small, it makes him want to puke.

He hasn’t been like this since he was a child, since his father had thrown him around because he talked too much, since his mother had yelled at him that he was always too loud, since his sisters refused to even acknowledge that he was part of their family. He had thought that Oxenfurt had healed him. He had learned to thrive in Oxenfurt, learned to sing and be loud again. He had been happy there. 

Then, he had met Geralt, and Geralt had let him talk, had given him soft smiles and had helped him out of every trouble he ran into. Geralt had made him feel safe, made him feel happy and secure. And he had taken everything away, in one snap of his fingers. 

Jaskier packs his bag, taking the two shirts Eskel gifted him. They are warm, and he’ll have to walk to the nearest village in the snow storm that is picking up, he’ll need them. He puts on the cape again and writes a note, apologizing to them all. He leaves one last note for Ciri, telling her he loves her, and then he reopens his door, carefully. His lute stays on the bed, Ciri’s note tucked on it. 

He can hear loud voices downstairs, but he doesn’t take the main stairs. He knows what he’ll find if he does: all the witchers and Ciri, celebrating Geralt’s return. And he is happy for them, he really is, but there is only so much heartbreak he can take in one day. He is already giving up on his daughter for both her happiness and Geralt’s, he doesn’t want to have to fake joy at Geralt’s return as well. 

Instead, he takes the old, broken stairs that Vesemir had warned him off on the first day. They lead to a decrepit room, where the witchers have taken to leave pieces of old furniture they can’t burn or reuse during the winter. The older witcher had explained to him that in the spring, he travelled to the nearest town and sold those pieces to the local blacksmith. 

Jaskier crosses the room, opens the locket as quietly as he can, and finds himself back in the main hallway. He can hear Eskel’s voice, and though he doesn’t really understand the words, he catches his name. He nearly goes to listen, wants to know what the man is saying in such a loud tone, but he doesn’t. He goes to the main door, opens it, and slips into the snow. 

The world is grey and white with snow, and he draws the hood of the cloak over his hair as he trudges through the courtyard. The snow is higher than it was earlier, and cold immediately surrounds him. It penetrates his legs and shoes again, and this time he doesn’t have Ciri’s joy to distract him. 

The gates are hard to push open, but after a bit of effort, he manages and slips out, the metal closing with a loud sound behind him. He doesn’t need to hurry though. No one will follow him now, not in this storm. He trusts the wolves of Kaer Morhen to hold Ciri back if she tried and to keep her safe.

Everything feels so big and so large as he walks forward, the snow piling up higher and higher. He only finds the path they had taken because of the trees that border it, and he clings to them to keep going. It feels like, by moments, the earth shakes under his feet. Every step is a torture, his body freezing. The gloves aren’t enough to keep his hands warm, so he tucks them into his cloak and keeps going. He just needs to find a cave to wait out the snow storm. 

Somewhere, Destiny screams and rages. Her anger shakes the ground, shakes the very essence of the world, but the bard she chose is resisting her words. He resists her anger, resists her kindness, and she can’t even blame him for it. She chose him, made him Hers, and it breaks Destiny’s heart, to see that child of light break himself apart. If she could, she would cradle him in her arms. But she can’t. Ideas can’t hold people. So she attacks, with all her the strength that she has, the world, until it will bend to her will. 

Jaskier doesn’t listen to the screams of the wind, doesn’t listen to his tired body as he keeps walking. He is so tired, and his body is burning. The cold is freezing and burning and everything blurs together in the snow. The storm shakes him, forces him to stop, but he is stubborn. He knows he needs to get away, to protect Ciri from him. 

He stumbles against a rock, and when he tries to catch himself on a tree, his gloves tear slightly on the bark. He falls heavily into the icy snow, and it breaks his skin, pushes into his mouth and nose and eyes and everything is so cold, so cold. 

“Jaskier!” 

Voices, screaming. He knows the voices. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt’s voice now. 

Jaskier scrambles back up, energy coursing through his body. He needs to get away, he can’t make Geralt mad again, he needs to get away and leave— 

“Jaskier,” a breathy, relieved sound, and suddenly he finds himself pulled against a warm body. “You’re freezing.” 

He struggles, tries to free himself from Geralt’s hold on him, but he is so weak. His body is so cold and Geralt is so warm right now. He wants to yell and push at the man’s chest, but he can’t move. 

Still, Geralt steps back a body and looks at him. His eyes are full of something Jaskier wishes he could see as worry, but he knows must be annoyance. They must have forced Geralt to go look for him. Perhaps Ciri was crying and she asked for Jaskier and Geralt felt like he had to. He can’t have come on his own. 

“Jaskier, please,” Geralt begs, and his voice is so weak in the storm. “Come back, please, let me bring you back, you don’t have to go because of me, I won’t-“ 

“Just tell them you couldn’t find me,” Jaskier stutters the words out, the cold making his teeth clack uncontrollably as he struggles weakly to get away still. “You’ll be alright and I won’t bother you and you’ll take care of Ciri, and she’ll be happy. You’ll take care of her, won’t you? Just make her happy, she will love you so much. She’s your destiny, Geralt, you have to take care of her, you have to.” 

Confusion and pain are painted wide on Geralt’s face, but Jaskier doesn’t see those, doesn’t look at him. He can’t look at him. He has hurt the man so much, has made him suffer, and he needs to get away before he does anymore and-

“She needs you, Jaskier, she loves you so much,” Geralt says, and walks closer. “I need you.”

The words almost hurt to hear, because Geralt _can’t_ be saying the truth, he can’t be, and the lie makes Jaskier’s eyes water. 

“Don’t lie, don’t lie, don’t lie,” he wants to yell but he can’t, his body is too cold, “you can’t lie to me please, I know I’m too much, I know I’m awful and I keep hurting you, please-“ 

“I’m not lying Jaskier,” Geralt says, voice breaking, and he sinks to his knees, forcing Jaskier to look down at him. “I know what I said to you was horrible. I should never have blamed you for those things, things that were out of your control. The djinn was my fault, I should not have been looking for one in the first place, it was idiotic of me and I hurt you, I almost killed you. I’m so sorry Jaskier, please. Cintra, Ciri, it wasn’t your fault either. I invoked the law of surprise, and I was the one to abandon Ciri. I should thank you for having been a faithful friend all those years. You’ve never faltered, never left me, even when I was awful to you, and I understand if you want nothing to do with me anymore.” 

His words aren’t swallowed by the storm, strangely. Rather, they ring loud and clear in the air. The storm has stilled, snow suspended into the air. The world is waiting for Jaskier’s answer, holding an unseen breath as he shivers and shakes in the cold. But Jaskier doesn’t answer, so Geralt speaks again. 

“I understand and I won’t force my presence on you. But please, let me bring you back to Kaer Morhen. Let me bring you back to the others, to Ciri… Please, Jaskier, let me do this one thing right for you.” 

Jaskier doesn’t know how to answer anymore. He doesn’t know what words he can use, what words he can say. Instead, he oscillates, falls forward into the snow. He’s so close to Geralt now, his body seeking warmth, and he reaches out to the witcher slowly, his hands frozen. 

“Home,” he whispers slowly. “Bring me home.” 

The world shudders in relief, but Jaskier doesn’t hear it. His body has finally given up, and he is sinking into blissful darkness. 

He wakes up surrounded by warmth. There are heavy weights settled against him, one large against his back and a smaller one in front, and when he blinks his eyes open, he looks down to see Ciri, cuddled up against him. Her golden hair is still braided in the plait he had done before he left, but hair is escaping all over as she clings to him in her sleep. 

“She hasn’t left your side since you were brought back here,” Eskel says from behind him. 

He looks up, and the man is the weight he felt behind him. Eskel’s arms are holding him loosely, keeping him warm and safely enclosed in this peaceful bubble. 

“How long?” Jaskier croaks the words out, his throat sore. It’s painful to speak, but he tries again anyway. “When did I…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Eskel says gently. “You were out all night, and most of the day.” 

“Geralt…?” 

“He brought you back and made sure you were safe. He has been visiting regularly, but Vesemir told him to not come bother you while you rested.” 

Jaskier closes his eyes slowly. “Thank you,” he whispers, exhaustion taking over him, and he bends down to kiss Ciri’s head, falling asleep again. 

The next few days are a blur between wakefulness and sleep. Whenever he wakes up, Ciri is there, holding him tight. The first time she sees him awake again, she starts crying and hugs him so tightly he can’t breathe for a couple of seconds. He doesn’t complain though. Instead, he hugs her back just as tightly and whispers apologies into her hair. They are both crying by the time he sinks back into sleep. 

The witchers are also a constant presence. They aren’t always in the room when he wakes up, but within minutes they are, and he usually finds himself hugged within an inch of his life. It is Lambert that surprises him the most, bringing him a warm cup of water and honey, and sitting on the side of the bed. 

“Don’t do that to us again,” he says, and Jaskier thinks he is aiming to be angry, but he only hears a pleading note. “You scared us half to death.” 

“Sorry,” Jaskier whispers. He is sitting up, Ciri reading something against him. “I didn’t mean to worry all of you.” 

“Well, you did. You’re part of our family now, you get that? We aren’t giving up on you. You are one of the wolves now, alright? Don’t go anywhere we can’t follow, songbird.” 

“Am I a wolf or a songbird then?’ Jaskier smiles, trying to work around the warmth of that statement. He _belongs_ here. They want him to stay, they have decided that he would be part of their family. 

“You’re an idiot,” Lambert says and draws him in a hug. “That’s what you are.” 

Jaskier relaxes into the hug and laughs softly. “Thank you Lambert.” 

It’s a week after he first woke up that there is a knock at the door that’s too formal to be any of the others. Ciri is struggling through a few chords on the lute, biting her lips as Jaskier coaxes her into relaxing so that it will come naturally, and they both still at the sound. 

“I can tell him to go away, Dad.” Ciri looks serious, none of the playfulness of before in her eyes. “You don’t have to see him.” 

“He is your destiny, darling,” he says and pushes her hair away from her face. “And he was my friend. He tried to apologize, and he brought me back here. I think it might be worth it for me to listen to him.” 

“I’m staying then,” she puts down the lute. “So he can’t say anything mean again.” 

He kisses her forehead. “I would rather not. Why don’t you go ask Aiden if he can show you some more knife throwing tricks? He told me you were getting good at those.” 

She pouts, but he pushes at her back gently. She gets up and kisses her father’s cheek. “You’ll call out if you need anything?” 

“I swear,” he smiles gently. 

She sighs heavily, but she goes to the door. When she opens it, Geralt is standing behind it, guilt painted all over his face. 

“Ciri,” he tries to say, but the girl is slipping away before he can continue. He looks inside, looks at Jaskier, and hesitates. “May I?” 

The bard nods. “Come in Geralt. It’s…” The words are on his tongue, but he doesn’t know if he can say them. He still tries. “It’s good to see you.” 

Geralt looks a bit surprised, and he stands in the doorway, not coming in further despite the clear invitation. He is twisting something in his hands, a small pouch, and he walks closer slowly, his eyes never leaving Jaskier’s face. When he is close enough that the other man is within arm’s reach, he extends the pouch. 

“For you,” he says, a bit halted in his speech. “I um. I made it. It’s not perfect but. It’s for you.” 

“You made it?” Jaskier opens the pouch, and a medallion, about as large as Geralt’s, falls into his hand. “Geralt…” 

A buttercup and a wolf are carefully engraved into the silver disk. The details are breathtaking, and Jaskier has no idea how the white haired witcher did this; he hadn’t been aware of any particular crafting talent the man had beyond mending his own torn shirts. 

“You don’t have to keep it, you can throw it away if you want,” Geralt stumbles over his words, trying to say them as fast as he can. “And it’s not in place of an apology, I just, I wanted to know that, everything my brothers have been saying about you being a part of the family, it’s. It’s true for me as well.” 

Jaskier smiles slightly, his heart pulling at his cheeks as it leaps into his chest. His love for Geralt hasn’t died, hasn’t ever gone away. It’s bruised right now, battered and hiding away in a corner, but it’s still there. He clutches the medallion in his hand. 

“Thank you Geralt,” he whispers softly, and there is relief in the man’s face. “I’d be more than happy to wear it.” 

Slowly, he undoes the clasp of the medallion. He avoids looking at his scarred hands. The small wounds his nails made will soon be memories, but for now they are present, ugly and there, and he wants to forget them. The guilt of what he could have done, of what he almost did, is enough. He doesn’t want to add the guilt of falling into old habits to it. 

When it hangs from his neck, he realizes that it is lighter than he had anticipated. He twirls it into his hands and smiles softly again, looking at Geralt directly this time. 

“I’m sorry I left before you could talk to me,” he starts, but Geralt frowns. 

“What? No, don’t be sorry, I…” He looks around and takes the table’s chair, sitting on it by the foot of the bed. “I’m the one who is sorry. I… I don’t know if you remember what I told you when I found you but… I’m sorry, truly. I went searching for Ciri after I left the mountain and I… I realized that I was wrong. I should never have blamed you for all of that. You are… You’re more than I deserve, Jaskier. Anybody is lucky to have you in their life, and I took you for granted, threw you away like you didn’t matter. I was blinded by what I thought was love. I was blinded by my own stupidity, and I hurt you. I am sorry, Jaskier, and I know that it can’t change the past.”

“I remember,” Jaskier answers his earlier enquiry, and he gathers himself straighter, the blanket on his shoulders falling down slightly. “I accept your apology, Geralt. I accept your apology and I understand what drove you to those words. But I… There are things you cannot say to me again, if you wish us to be friends again. I understand that… It was a difficult time. And you didn’t think before speaking.” 

He picks at the crusts on his hands, stops himself, and looks back at his witcher. “You must know I wasn’t always Jaskier, your wandering bard. I have a past too, I had friends before you, I had a family before this one. They were not the kindest to me, and they were not happy with me. I know I can be too much. I know I am often too loud, speaking too much, that my songs and blabbering annoy you-“ 

“They don’t,” Geralt cuts in. “I love your voice. Being with you, on the Path… It was my only respite. I looked forward to seeing you again every spring, and was disappointed when our paths did not cross soon in the year. It was always a relief to see you again.” 

Jaskier is left a bit speechless at that. How is he supposed to answer this? He had wanted to tell Geralt about his family, tell him about the angry words they had shouted at him, about the hits that had landed when he did not fit their expectations. So many times he had tried, but they remained stuck in his throat. He had felt prisoners of their words still. Now, he doesn’t know how to begin explaining to Geralt why hearing those words now sends him into relieved sobs. 

Tears run down his cheeks, and he tries to contain the sobs, but Geralt looks panicked, and Aiden runs into the room with Ciri. 

“What did you say to him?” The girl accuses, and she runs to her father’s side.

“I, nothing! I was just trying to apologize and-“ 

“You must have said something!” She looks upset and Jaskier chuckles wetly.

“It’s alright darling, I’m happy.” He caresses her hair and kisses her cheek. “Geralt hasn’t done anything wrong, I swear.” 

She looks doubtful, but she nods anyway. “Alright… Do you want me to stay?” 

“No, both of you can leave us alone again,” he looks at Aiden. “I’m safe. Geralt is my friend, and he wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“Never again,” Geralt swears with finality. “I’m truly sorry I hurt him. I would never do it again, and I hope I’ll never do it again.” 

Aiden nods and puts an arm around Ciri. “We’ll leave the two of you then. Come on, I can show you how to throw a knife with your eyes closed.” 

“Don’t,” Jaskier and Geralt say at the same time, panic shared, but Aiden is grinning and leading Ciri away already. 

Geralt turns back to Jaskier and looks at the bard’s hands, frowning a bit. “What happened?” 

_I pick at my own skin, scratch it until I bleed, until I’m brought back away from the spiralling thoughts that try to devour me,_ he almost says, but again the clawing fear that Geralt will reject him stops him. 

“You did this to yourself,” Geralt breathes the word out, despair in his voice, but he reels himself in, steadies his features. “How can I help?” 

Jaskier is a bit surprised that Geralt figured it out without him saying anything, but he is thankful he doesn’t have to explain. He twists the medallion slightly, thinking on his friend’s question. 

“I’ve never… been helped with it, really? I thought I had grown out of it. I didn’t think I would go back to it but…” 

“I caused this,” Geralt’s guilt is so heavy that Jaskier can’t help but reach out, taking his hand in his own. 

“No,” he affirms strongly. “You didn’t. Your words on the mountain… brought back memories of things that have already been said to me. I was alone afterwards, and I fell down into a rabbit hole of self-loathing and despair. You aren’t the source of those feelings, Geralt. Until then, I felt valued, and appreciated, even when you were annoyed with me. I don’t… I don’t blame you for it, so please. Don’t blame yourself for it.” 

Geralt looks at their clasped hands and slowly turns his hand so that his palm is connected to Jaskier. “My brothers and father seem to be of a different opinion.” 

“They have, for some reason, become very protective of me since I arrived here. They are good people.” 

“They are,” Geralt agrees, and then looks back at Jaskier. “So are you. You’re wonderful, Jaskier. I know you might not believe it right now, but I truly believe so.” 

“Thank you,” Jaskier says, and with hesitation, he leans forward and kisses Geralt’s cheek, featherlight. “It does mean something to me, even if I can’t believe it just yet.”

Geralt looks a bit startled by the kiss, but there is a pleased expression that settles over his face, and Jaskier finds himself staying close to him, keeping their hands joined. 

“I’m sorry I brought Ciri here immediately, I had no idea you were looking for her.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Geralt hastens to say. “She was safe with you, here. Can I ask about the… father-daughter thing?” 

Jaskier smiles at the awkwardness in Geralt’s voice as he asks. “I’ve known Ciri for a long time, ever since she was a baby in fact. I spent most of my winters in Cintra, keeping an eye on her for you.” 

“For me?” The witcher bites his lips, thoughtful. “I missed out on a lot of things, didn’t I?” 

“Would you like me to tell you about her? She’s a wonderful girl, you know. She doesn’t trust you just yet, and I’m sorry for that, but… She’ll learn to love you. I know it.” 

_I have_ , he doesn’t say, but he knows his face must say it. He has never been very good at hiding his emotions. 

“Please,” Geralt nods. “Are you comfortable though? If you’re cold I can-" 

“You can cuddle me, like your family has been doing?” Jaskier teases, and feels a blush forming on his cheeks. “I did not mean-“ 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Geralt answers, and his ears are tinged red. 

_Witchers don’t blush_ , Lambert had said when Jaskier had teased him about Aiden, but Jaskier had seen through the lie. What is it then, that makes Geralt blush? 

“Oh.” He is a bit breathless at the idea, but he shifts slightly and tugs on Geralt’s hand. “Come on then. Winters are cold here in the Keep.” 

He isn’t cold, not truly, but he wants to show Geralt that he trusts him, that their fight and Jaskier’s own issues aren’t a barrier to their friendship. And, truth be told, he doesn’t remember much of the last time Geralt had held him close like this. It had been when the djinn had attacked him, and most of his memories of that day are pain, panic, and fear. It hadn’t helped he had been drunk too. 

Geralt hesitates and throws a glance at the open door. It’s almost as if he expects someone to burst in, to tell him off about hurting Jaskier. Eventually though, he follows the tugs on his hand, and comes to settle next to Jaskier. 

Shamelessly, Jaskier burrows himself into his side, and breathes in his scent. It’s so inherently Geralt, so warm and well known, that his body relaxes immediately. 

“So, Ciri… Where to start? I wish I could show you my memories,” Jaskier sighs softly, and feels Geralt’s arms settling over his shoulders. “But well, a story will have to do, I suppose.” 

He starts talking, recounting stories after stories about Cintra’s court, and Geralt chuckles and asks questions every now and then. A content, settled warmth sits in his stomach, and he lets it spread throughout his body. 

He must fall asleep, because he wakes up to hushed whispers. He is still holding onto Geralt, and when he turns his head to see the source of the noise, he sees Vesemir and Ciri in the doorway. 

“Oh, did we wake you up?” Geralt’s voice is soft and Jaskier realizes that his hand is in his hair, playing with it gently. “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s alright,” he yawns. “I should probably get out of bed anyway… What time is it?” 

“We were coming to see if you wanted to come have lunch downstairs with us, if you were feeling good enough for it,” Vesemir says apologetically. 

Next to him, Ciri is looking between Jaskier and Geralt with confusion, but also with an understanding dawning slowly. Her green eyes keep darting from the bard’s face to his hair, and then to Geralt. Jaskier watches her for a few seconds, and when she comes walking into the room, he wonders if she is about to tell Geralt off again. 

“You’ll take good care of my dad?” She asks instead, looking straight into Geralt’s eyes. “You won’t hurt him or make him leave?” 

“Never,” Geralt swears seriously, and he keeps his hand in Jaskier’s hair. “I’m sorry that I did and I truly did not mean to. I said some very hurtful things to him, but I wouldn’t say those again, and I want to do better.” 

“Hmm.” Ciri looks at him as seriously, and Jaskier hides a chuckle. “You swear so?” 

“On my life. I want to do better for both of you, if you’d let me.” 

She gnaws at her lips, some worry clear in her eyes still. Her eyes fall to Jaskier, and she takes her father in, before nodding. 

“Alright. If dad trusts you, that’s good enough for me.” She leans forward, kisses his cheek lightly. “We’ll be waiting downstairs for lunch with you two! I’m sure you can walk downstairs now dad.” 

She skips back to Vesemir and takes his hand, leading him away. The old man only chuckles and follows. 

“She’s…” Geralt smiles widely and chuckles. “She’s quite something.”

“Isn’t she?” Jaskier’s own answering smile is proud. “She is your daughter, you know? By the Law of Surprise, she’s your daughter.” 

“I don’t think I’m the one she sees as her father,” Geralt points out, his thumb rubbing small circles into Jaskier’s hair. 

“She can have two fathers,” Jaskier insists. “I won’t take her away from you. I’ve told her all the good things you’ve done. She just needs some time. It took her a little bit with me too.”

Geralt’s hand finally slips away from his hair, and Jaskier misses it instantly, but Geralt slowly caresses his cheek. “Thank you.” 

Their faces are close, so close, and Geralt’s eyes flicker to Jaskier’s lips. If only Jaskier leant forward, their lips might meet, and Jaskier’s heart would sing happily. 

He turns his head away instead and ignores the rush of disappointment in his body. “We should get going. I have to warn you, I haven’t walked further than the stairs since you brought me back.” 

“It’s alright,” Geralt says and lets Jaskier get away from him. “I’ll be right there for you.” 

That confession is said with much more than the context of walking to the kitchen, but Jaskier doesn’t say anything back. He puts on his doublet, something thick and warm that Aiden had brought to him during the week, and then pulls on his shoes. 

The walk down the stairs is somewhat of an adventure, but he manages, holding himself to Geralt and the walls. The witcher doesn’t complain, not once, and he lets Jaskier hold onto him until they reach the kitchen. After that, lunch is a smooth affair. 

The others are happy to see him, and he laughs brightly when Lambert recites bits of a song they’ve been working on for him. Ciri giggles at the ridiculousness of her new family, and Jaskier wraps his arm around her shoulder as he listens to the witchers teasing each other. 

Geralt seems to be walking on eggshells, but throughout the meal, as it becomes apparent that Jaskier has truly forgiven him, the others start roughhousing with him too. There is a new lightness in Geralt’s eyes by the end of the meal, and Jaskier insists that he doesn’t need to go back to bed. 

Instead, he settles in the great hall with them all and Ciri runs off to fetch him his lute. He plays for them, and sings a bit, but mostly they do the singing. Laughter fills the hall as the witchers pair off to dance, and Ciri tugs on Geralt’s hand, showing him how to dance as well. 

By the end of the afternoon, Jaskier is exhausted, but he is happier than he has been in a long time, long before Geralt sent him away on the mountain. He falls asleep to the warm sound of laughter in his ears, and the phantom feeling of a hand in his hair. 

The days go by slowly after that. Jaskier slowly gets better, and slowly starts training with Eskel and Ciri again. He keeps teaching Ciri how to play the lute, and he reads through the Keep’s library with voracity. He had missed reading, had missed the histories of the world and the dry retellings of experiments by mages. It’s truly a wonder for him to rediscover that. 

In between, there is something quiet and tentative that blooms between him and Geralt. At first, it is only cuddles under the pretence of staying warm, but then Geralt spends more and more time with him. They talk quietly, and Jaskier tells him. He tells him about his family, about the people he had hurt to keep himself afloat during his time at Oxenfurt. He speaks of the fears and memories that haunt him. 

In exchange, Geralt tells him of growing up as a witcher. His tales aren’t pretty, they are full of monsters and death, but Jaskier has never feared those. He listens without judging, without questioning. He trusts Geralt fully, and he hopes that the same trust is there in Geralt. 

Ciri quietly takes to calling Geralt her father as well. The first time it happens, Jaskier sees tears shining in Geralt’s eyes, and Ciri rushes to hug him. 

Three months go by this way. Spring gets closer, and Jaskier dreads that moment. He doesn’t know what will happen once the roads clear. But he enjoys the moments he has with his new family, and he appreciates when the snow finally lifts slightly from the courtyard. 

“Jaskier, can I talk to you?” 

Geralt is waiting a few meters away from where Jaskier is reading in the library. He has settled in an alcove that overlooks the courtyard and is watching Ciri train with Lambert. She is getting good, and he is more than proud of it. 

He closes his book and smiles. “Of course. What is it?” 

Geralt settles across from him, rubbing his palms nervously together. “I want you and Ciri to travel with me this year.” 

The offer pleases Jaskier, but he is still surprised. “Is that safe?” 

“Maybe not the best option,” Geralt agrees, “but she wouldn’t be happy here all year with just Vesemir and you. I promised I would take care of you two, and I’ll do my best to do that, but I… I’m a witcher. And I have to do my duty. I kill monsters. Ciri and you can defend yourself pretty well by now, and I … I would always protect you as well. I just… I don’t want to be away from you anymore.” 

He says the last part in a rushed whisper, and his hands are gripping his knees. He doesn’t look up at Jaskier, simply keeps talking, as if he is afraid of not being able to say all that he wants to.

“I’ve realized that the two of you matter so much to me. Ciri is, well, obviously she is my daughter, and yours, and you… Well I. I don’t know how I was so blind all those years, I don’t know how I could not see what was right in front of me. I just. You don’t have to return my feelings but I. I love you, Jaskier, and I want to stay by your side.” 

The confession startles Jaskier slightly. He hadn’t been expecting that. He had never really considered the possibility that Geralt would say it this way. He can’t even begin to form words, happiness and shock rushing through him. 

Geralt mistakes his hesitation for a refusal. “I understand this mustn’t make things easy for you, but I swear I won’t mention it again-“ 

“No!” Jaskier manages to get the words out and at Geralt’s half hurt look, keeps going. “I mean, no, please, keep mentioning it. Oh gods, this is so hard. How did you find the strength to do it? I just…” 

He is so frustrated with himself. He gets up and walks closer to Geralt. 

“May I?” He touches his chin, and Geralt’s eyes widen as he nods. 

The first press of their lips together is soft, and Jaskier does his best to not melt. His beard is brushing softly against Geralt’s skin and it produces a soft scratching sound in the quietness of the moment. Geralt kisses back, tender and loving, and when Jaskier pulls back, he chases after his lips, drawing out another kiss, and then another, and another, until Jaskier is settled on his lap and they are both breathless. 

They have matching smiles on their faces and Jaskier laughs softly, letting his head fall on Geralt’s shoulder. 

“I love you,” he admits. “I’ve loved you for so long, I don’t know what it’s like to not love you.” 

Geralt’s smile is beautiful, and Jaskier can’t help but steal another kiss from his lips. They stay like this, trading gentle kisses, for a long while, and Ciri is the one to startle them out of it when she runs into the library. 

The grin that splits her face open is so mischievous Jaskier wonders how long she had been waiting to walk on them kissing. 

“I knew it,” she exclaims and then runs back out, yelling the other witchers’ names. 

“I guess this won’t stay private very long,” Jaskier sighs with a smile and kisses Geralt again. “Can’t say that I mind.” 

“Me neither,” Geralt smiles happily. “So, will you come with me?” 

“Well…” Jaskier drawls out the word, his fingers carding through white hair. “It would be cruel of me to separate my daughter from either of her fathers, wouldn’t it? And you still need a bard to sing your praises.” 

“I just need a bard to love and my daughter by my side,” Geralt murmurs and kisses Jaskier again. “I don’t need my praises sang.” 

“Maybe not,” Jaskier hums, “but I like to think you deserve it.” 

Geralt smiles again, and they get lost in each other for a few more minutes before they leave the library. 

Three weeks later, when the roads are finally clear of ice, they are the first to leave Kaer Morhen. Ciri has had Jaskier cut her hair, still long enough that he can braid it for her, but much shorter than before. A sword hangs at her waist, and she is dressed in much the same fashion as the witchers. Jaskier remains in colourful clothing, but around his neck hangs the wolf and dandelion medallion Geralt gifted him, and he has a sword hanging at his waist as well. They are a family of wolves now, and they’ll remain together. 

Somewhere in the vast void of existence, Destiny rumbles happily. All the ties have been brought back together, and she can enjoy watching the little songbird sing happily again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd this is over :'D I love this AU so much, I poured a lot of myself into it. I hope you all enjoyed reading it, and I hope the ending was satisfactory enough! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment or kudos! Or come chat with me on tumblr (@saltytransidiot) :D

**Author's Note:**

> whoopsie, here we go!! I have a soft spot for all the witchers, can you tell? 
> 
> Next chapter will be up during the week!! And yes it will be just as long. And just as sweet/angsty. WE SHALL SEE.
> 
> Don't hesitate to leave a comment or kudos!! :D Or come check out my tumblr, @saltytransidiot :D


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